On Saturday, in Wicker Park, Jaime gave me a slick laminate churchy flyer. It advertised a concert for "rapper CHRIST FA REAL," which made me think of Krysta (she's my girl, girl). Suddenly, rapper CHRIST FA REAL is making the rounds of the Michigan alumni hipster elite. Kevin witnessed crowds lining up to get a glimpse of CFR. I found some mp3s of "Demon Killa" and other CFR hot traxxx. Unfortunately, I'm not feelin' rapper CHRIST FA REAL. He sounds like a dubbed-out version of Jay-Z, with a children's choir in the background singing about killing demons. Fa real.
I was going through some old journal entries today, just reflecting on how much things have changed in personal, political, worldwide arenas over the past years (and recently, days). I've been doing this web site for just under five years now, and what was once an intensely personal endeavor has now become just another update-type site. It is too difficult to share anything of much depth anymore.
F'rinstance, did I mention that Evan and I stopped dating? That happened a long time ago. Last summer, we were tired of doing the long-distance lurve thing. But we weren't tired of each other, aside from little things that are almost endearing in their annoyance (his post-rock analysis, my constant drowsiness). So we decided that one of us could make a cross-country move, and we'd make a nest together. He thought of transferring to a law school in New York, but we agreed that it was simply too expensive (and I didn't want to be saddled with guilt if things between us were to sour). New York was shaving a part of me (and my finances) every day, and I missed my family. So, while still living in Brooklyn, I flew to Chicago a few times for job interviews. I snagged a job, subleased the Brooklyn apartment, and reserved a Ryder truck. My mother flew out to help me move, and two days before I was to arrive in Chicago, Evan said that he could not live with me. So with no Brooklyn apartment, with boxes everywhere, and with eight hundred miles ahead, I left New York anyway. And here I am now. Evan lives a few blocks away; we shop at the same grocery and record stores. I don't have any emotional analysis to put up here. I don't really want to think about it now, either. Time to purge the sturm und drang.
Erin and I went to Penny's Noodle Shop last night. We dined outside on plastic furniture, watching packs of Gapped-out men walk to the nearby bars. Mysterious Yellow Vespa Guy drove past us. I see him around town maybe once a week. I had seen his scooter at Scooterworks when I was shopping for a ride of my own. A pretty vehicle, but also overpriced for what it is. We went to a pub after eating, and a band of old Irish guys played their hearts out while we sipped our Guinness (Erin) and Cedona (moi). A girl turned twenty-one and Erin made a possible missed connection. It was good to not feel old that night.
I was going through some old journal entries today, just reflecting on how much things have changed in personal, political, worldwide arenas over the past years (and recently, days). I've been doing this web site for just under five years now, and what was once an intensely personal endeavor has now become just another update-type site. It is too difficult to share anything of much depth anymore.
F'rinstance, did I mention that Evan and I stopped dating? That happened a long time ago. Last summer, we were tired of doing the long-distance lurve thing. But we weren't tired of each other, aside from little things that are almost endearing in their annoyance (his post-rock analysis, my constant drowsiness). So we decided that one of us could make a cross-country move, and we'd make a nest together. He thought of transferring to a law school in New York, but we agreed that it was simply too expensive (and I didn't want to be saddled with guilt if things between us were to sour). New York was shaving a part of me (and my finances) every day, and I missed my family. So, while still living in Brooklyn, I flew to Chicago a few times for job interviews. I snagged a job, subleased the Brooklyn apartment, and reserved a Ryder truck. My mother flew out to help me move, and two days before I was to arrive in Chicago, Evan said that he could not live with me. So with no Brooklyn apartment, with boxes everywhere, and with eight hundred miles ahead, I left New York anyway. And here I am now. Evan lives a few blocks away; we shop at the same grocery and record stores. I don't have any emotional analysis to put up here. I don't really want to think about it now, either. Time to purge the sturm und drang.
Erin and I went to Penny's Noodle Shop last night. We dined outside on plastic furniture, watching packs of Gapped-out men walk to the nearby bars. Mysterious Yellow Vespa Guy drove past us. I see him around town maybe once a week. I had seen his scooter at Scooterworks when I was shopping for a ride of my own. A pretty vehicle, but also overpriced for what it is. We went to a pub after eating, and a band of old Irish guys played their hearts out while we sipped our Guinness (Erin) and Cedona (moi). A girl turned twenty-one and Erin made a possible missed connection. It was good to not feel old that night.
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